The Doctor's Daughter
by mercy.pond
Summary: Involving my OC, John, Sherlock, trouble and competitive fun between a cello and a violin.  Story should be better than the summery...at least, I hope so. xD Also: this has SPOILERS for the the episode of 'Sherlock', "The Great Game".  c:
1. Chapter 1

The fog was thick and chilly in early-morning London. Few cabs drove on the streets; most of the residents of London were waiting for the pale spring sun to help burn away the fog. One cab, though, drove through the quiet London streets, its engine rumbling softly.

The cabbie's passenger sat silent in the back, dark blue eyes staring out the window into the fog.

"Is it always this foggy here?" the blue-eyed girl asked, her thick Irish brogue making the cabbie smile.

"Aye, lass," the cabbie replied, his own Scottish accent still as thick as when he had moved to London thirty years before.

The girl offered a quick grin in response to his, and then went back to staring out the window. A quiet silence filled the cab.

Ten minutes later, the cab pulled up to its destination, and the girl opened the cab door as the cabbie went around to the truck to gather together her meager luggage – she carried only a medium-sized blue suitcase and a black case.

"Thanks," she said distractedly to the cabbie, eyes staring ahead at the door. The cabbie, nodding, climbed back into the cab, leaving the girl alone on the quiet street, the fog quickly muffling the cab as it disappeared.

Kaitlyn Maura O'Carroll gripped the handle of the suitcase firmly, trying to force down her apprehension and fear as she slung the case over her back.

Born in Kilkenny, Ireland and raised between there and Boston, Massachusetts by her single mother, Alaina, and her grandparents, Amelia and Rory O'Carroll, Kaitlyn grew up the oldest of her friends. Having graduated her senior cycle of secondary school, her mother could pose little argument in Kaitlyn coming here. What her mother had argued with her about was the fact that she had come to London with the sole purpose of meeting her biological father, whom she didn't know and who didn't know of her. Alaina had been adamant about not telling Kaitlyn, but Kaitlyn's grandfather Rory had told his daughter that if Alaina didn't tell Kaitlyn, then he would. Alaina had, unwillingly, relented, and Kaitlyn was told the story of her conception.

Alaina told the story calling her father John, refusing to name his last name. She told Kaitlyn about meeting him at college, going to a party together, having too much to drink and ended with her leaving the university to return to Ireland after learning of carrying Kaitlyn. Alaina had not wanted to let Kaitlyn go alone, but Kaitlyn's grandmother Amelia had told Alaina that this was something she knew Kaitlyn needed to do alone.

Readjusting her death-grip on her suitcase, Kaitlyn glanced down at herself. Her dark jeans were tucked into her tall brown boots; her dark gray trench coat covered her nice blue blouse. She ran a hand over the top of her head, smoothing down invisible sandy-blond fly-aways. The innocent piece of paper her mother had given her was tucked in her coat pocket, giving her father's name and address.

Taking a deep breath, thoughts flying through her head like leaf in a windstorm (_what's he like – will he hate me – wonder what he looks like – wonder if he got married – God please save me - _), Kaitlyn sucked in another breath and started for the building's door.

She could clearly see, on the door, marked as if specifically for her, _221 Baker Street_.

**A/N: I apologize for the editing of Keegan/Kaitlyn's name; I found that 'Keegan' just wasn't working, so...yeah.**


	2. Chapter 2

The sun shone pale through the fog outside when John peeked through one of the windows to peer down at the street below. He passed by the gun sitting on the table without a second glance; he never went anywhere without it these days.

He barely even noticed the bandages still on his forehead any more, just as Sherlock seemed to never notice his.

John's wounds consisted of a multitude of bruises, scraps, a split forehead (from hitting the pool's edge), two fractured fingers, and several burns the left side of his body. Sherlock's injuries were much the same, excluding the split forehead and fractured fingers, instead having had a massive concussion and even had gone into a coma for a day.

/_That was two months ago/ _John thought has he paced into the kitchen.

Moriarty had made no moves, had made no contact with them for two months. Both John and Sherlock carried a weapon with them whenever they left the flat, wary and always looking over their shoulders. Neither man could truly believe that their enemy had just dropped off the face of the planet like that. No, they knew he was just lying low, planning his next move.

Making tea had become something of a challenge for John, what with a fractured right index and ring finger. John had managed, though, and his fingers were almost all the way healed.

Just as he put the water on to boil, he heard a knock on the door and instantly tensed, glancing at Sherlock, who sat in his chair with his laptop balanced precariously on his knees. The man didn't move, didn't move his eyes from the screen that backlit his face a blueish color. John sighed loudly, moving towards the door. He heard voices coming from the other side; one he recognized as Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, and the other was a mystery. Slightly reassured, John pulled open the door to reveal Mrs. Hudson chattering away at a young girl, who John would bet was no more than nineteen. The girl was nodding politely at everything the older woman said, and John could tell the landlady was pleased to have someone listen to her. He felt a bit guilty, but pushed it away.

"Oh, John! I was hoping you were in. This young lady pulled up in a taxi a few minutes ago and told me she needed to see you."

"Thank you very much," the girl interrupted, her Irish accent making John blink at her.

"Oh, yes, well, tell Sherlock to be nice," Mrs. Hudson said, aiming the last part at John, with a glance behind him at the silent man.

With one last smile at the girl, Mrs. Hudson cheerily made her way back down the stairs, leaving John blinking and the girl looking terrified.

John looked at the girl.

"Well, come in if you like." John turned back from the doorway and walked back into the kitchen, the girl following him in.

When John passed, Sherlock looked up briefly to eye the girl standing to the side of the room.

As John busied himself in the kitchen, the girl shifted constantly: a twisting finger, a hand passed over hair, clenching and unclenching her fist.

A few minutes later John came back into the room bearing mugs, breaking the oppressing silence.

After passing one to each Sherlock and the girl, John stood quiet for a moment, unsure of how to begin.

While the silence hung in the room like a visible tension, John studied the girl. She couldn't have been taller than five foot two; her blond hair was sandy-colored and cut in varying lengths around her ears. She kept fiddling with something in the pocket of her trench coat, her feet constantly shifting the position of her brown hiker boots. Her face was slightly tanned, though still pale enough to show the freckles on her face. John saw that her eyes were dark blue, meeting his as the silence deepened.

"You are Dr. Watson, right?" The girl's question was sudden, eyes fixed on John, her accent adding an oddly musical lilt to her voice as he recognised the odd mix of American and Irish.

"Yeah, I am. Who are you, exactly?" The question wasn't said rudely but warily, with a guarded expression.

"What? Oh, yes. My name is Kaitlyn O'Carroll. Um, I, uh, came here to…to tell that –"

Sherlock interrupted with victory in his eyes.

"She's your daughter, John."


	3. Chapter 3

The silence that followed the man's proclamation was the loudest silence Kaitlyn had ever heard.

The doctor's eyes were wide, his face frozen in a confused expression. The man who had spoken had stood up from the couch was talking rapidly to Doctor Watson. Kaitlyn only heard bits and pieces of the rapid exchange, things like "eye color" and then something about her trench coat. To say the least, she was confused.

After a minute of the silence and the dark-haired man's hushed mutters, Kaitlyn was feeling strained. Suddenly she wished that she hadn't got the insane notion in her head to meet her father. She had probably just ruined his life. Fantastic.

With this thought in head, Kaitlyn spun around and make for the door. A hand on her shoulder made her spin back around, a flash of fear crossing her face as she stared up at the dark-haired man who'd somehow known who she was. As they shared a look, Kaitlyn began feeling a wee bit irritated; how was this guy so freakin' tall? Kaitlyn knew she was on the shorter side, but still! This man had no right to tower above her like that, though she had to admit to herself that made a pretty imposing figure.

Her irritation must have show because the absurdly tall man cracked a smile, stepping from his study of her.

"Most definitely your daughter, John," the man reinforced, and John Watson huffed a reply, taking a good look at Kaitlyn before retreating into the kitchen. By some unspoken statement, Kaitlyn knew to follow him, the tall man breezing away into the depths of the flat.

Standing in the kitchen in the returned silence made Kaitlyn feeling even more out of place. She stood silent and watched as Doctor Watson made the tea and poured it into two mugs, placing one on the table across from where he had seated himself. Indicating with his hand that she should sit, Kaitlyn dipped her head and sat in the chair, her fingers playing in the mug's handle as they sat in the quiet.

From somewhere in the flat, Kaitlyn heard a violin strike a soft note before pausing, as if taking a deep breath before plunging into a soft melody she couldn't identify.

Across from her, John Watson heaved a sigh. When she looked at him, Kaitlyn really _saw_ him for the first time. She hadn't noticed before the stark white bandage wrapped securely around in head, or the bandages that encased two fingers on his right hand and the one on his cheek. The bright electric lights above them cast odd shadows on his face, making him look much older.

Seeing her study him, he smiled a bit.

"Sorry for Sherlock…..he hasn't much tact when it comes to socialization." A violent shriek interrupted the melody that the violinist had been playing, and Kaitlyn guessed that 'Sherlock' was the tall man. Doctor Watson glared in the direction of the frightful noise, the soft music picking back up when he turned away from the sitting room. Kaitlyn heard him mutter something along the lines of "break that bloody instrument" before he ran a hand over his face and took a sip of his tea.

"Was he wearing stilts?" Kaitlyn asked suddenly, taking a sip of her own tea as the doctor spluttered.

"W-what?"

"The dark-haired guy who is absurdly tall. 'Sherlock'."

At this John Watson laughed. "Oh, no, he's naturally that tall."

The silence came back after he answered Kaitlyn's question, hanging in the space between them like a blanket as the violin continued to play.


End file.
